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(From The Lady of the Lake)
NO foot Fitz-James in stirrup stayed, | |
| No grasp upon the saddle laid, | |
| But wreathed his left hand in the mane, | |
| And lightly bounded from the plain, | |
| Turned on the horse his armed heel, | 5 |
| And stirred his courage with the steel. | |
| Bounded the fiery steed in air, | |
| The rider sat erect and fair, | |
| Then like a bolt from steel crossbow | |
| Forth launched, along the plain they go. | 10 |
| They dashed that rapid torrent through, | |
| And up Carhonie’s hill they flew; | |
| Still at the gallop pricked the knight, | |
| His merrymen followed as they might. | |
| Along thy banks, swift Teith! they ride, | 15 |
| And in the race they mock thy tide; | |
| Torry and Lendrick now are past, | |
| And Deanstown lies behind them cast; | |
| They rise, the bannered towers of Doune, | |
| They sink in distant woodland soon; | 20 |
| Blair-Drummond sees the hoofs strike fire, | |
| They sweep like breeze through Ochtertyre; | |
| They mark just glance and disappear | |
| The lofty brow of ancient Kier; | |
| They bathe their coursers’ sweltering sides, | 25 |
| Dark Forth! amid thy sluggish tides, | |
| And on the opposing shore take ground, | |
| With plash, with scramble, and with bound. | |
| Right hand they leave thy cliffs, Craig-Forth! | |
| And soon the bulwark of the North, | 30 |
| Gray Stirling, with her towers and town, | |
| Upon their fleet career looked down. * * * * * | |
| The Castle gates were open flung, | |
| The quivering drawbridge rocked and rung, | |
| And echoed loud the flinty street | 35 |
| Beneath the coursers’ clattering feet, | |
| As slowly down the steep descent | |
| Fair Scotland’s King and nobles went, | |
| While all along the crowded way | |
| Was jubilee and loud huzzah. | 40 |
| And ever James was bending low, | |
| To his white jennet’s saddlebow, | |
| Doffing his cap to city dame, | |
| Who smiled and blushed for pride and shame. | |
| And well the simperer might be vain,— | 45 |
| He chose the fairest of the train. | |
| Gravely he greets each city sire, | |
| Commends each pageant’s quaint attire, | |
| Gives to the dancers thanks aloud, | |
| And smiles and nods upon the crowd, | 50 |
| Who rend the heavens with their acclaims,— | |
| “Long live the Commons’ King, King James!” | |
| Behind the King thronged peer and knight, | |
| And noble dame and damsel bright, | |
| Whose fiery steeds ill brooked the stay | 55 |
| Of the steep street and crowded way. | |
| But in the train you might discern | |
| Dark lowering brow and visage stern; | |
| There nobles mourned their pride restrained, | |
| And the mean burgher’s joys disdained; | 60 |
| And chiefs, who, hostage for their clan, | |
| Were each from home a banished man, | |
| There thought upon their own gray tower, | |
| Their waving woods, their feudal power, | |
| And deemed themselves a shameful part | 65 |
| Of pageant which they cursed in heart. | |
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| Now, in the Castle park, drew out | |
| Their checkered bands the joyous rout. | |
| There morricers, with bell at heel, | |
| And blade in hand, their mazes wheel; | 70 |
| But chief, beside the butts, there stand | |
| Bold Robin Hood and all his band,— | |
| Friar Tuck with quarterstaff and cowl, | |
| Old Scathelocke with his surly scowl, | |
| Maid Marion, fair as ivory bone, | 75 |
| Scarlet, and Mutch, and Little John; | |
| Their bugles challenge all that will | |
| In archery to prove their skill. | |
| The Douglas bent a bow of might,— | |
| His first shaft centred in the white, | 80 |
| And when in turn he shot again, | |
| His second split the first in twain. | |
| From the King’s hand must Douglas take | |
| A silver dart, the archer’s stake; | |
| Fondly he watched, with watery eye, | 85 |
| Some answering glance of sympathy,— | |
| No kind emotion made reply! | |
| Indifferent as to archer wight, | |
| The monarch gave the arrow bright. | |
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| Now, clear the ring! for, hand to hand, | 90 |
| The manly wrestlers take their stand. | |
| Two o’er the rest superior rose, | |
| And proud demanded mightier foes, | |
| Nor called in vain! for Douglas came. | |
| For life is Hugh of Larbert lame; | 95 |
| Scarce better John of Alloa’s fare, | |
| Whom senseless home his comrades bare. | |
| Prize of the wrestling match, the King | |
| To Douglas gave a golden ring, | |
| While coldly glanced his eye of blue, | 100 |
| As frozen drop of wintry dew. | |
| Douglas would speak, but in his breast | |
| His struggling soul his words suppressed; | |
| Indignant then he turned him where | |
| Their arms the brawny yeomen bare, | 105 |
| To hurl the massive bar in air. | |
| When each his utmost strength had shown, | |
| The Douglas rent an earth-fast stone | |
| From its deep bed, then heaved it high, | |
| And sent the fragment through the sky, | 110 |
| A rood beyond the farthest mark; | |
| And still in Stirling’s royal park, | |
| The gray-haired sires, who know the past, | |
| To strangers point the Douglas cast, | |
| And moralize on the decay | 115 |
| Of Scottish strength in modern day. * * * * * | |
| At dawn the towers of Stirling rang | |
| With soldier-step and weapon-clang, | |
| While drums, with rolling note, foretell | |
| Relief to weary sentinel. | 120 |
| Through narrow loop and casement barred, | |
| The sunbeams sought the Court of Guard, | |
| And, struggling through the smoky air, | |
| Deadened the torches’ yellow glare. | |
| In comfortless alliance shone | 125 |
| The lights through arch of blackened stone, | |
| And showed wild shapes in garb of war, | |
| Faces deformed with beard and scar, | |
| All haggard from the midnight watch, | |
| And fevered with the stern debauch; | 130 |
| For the oak table’s massive board, | |
| Flooded with wine, with fragments stored. | |
| And beakers drained, and cups o’erthrown, | |
| Showed in what sport the night had flown. | |
| Some, weary, snored on floor and bench; | 135 |
| Some labored still their thirst to quench; | |
| Some, chilled with watching, spread their hands | |
| O’er the huge chimney’s dying brands, | |
| While round them, or beside them flung, | |
| At every step their harness rung. | 140 |
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| These drew not for their fields the sword, | |
| Like tenants of a feudal lord, | |
| Nor owned the patriarchal claim | |
| Of Chieftain in their leader’s name; | |
| Adventurers they, from far who roved, | 145 |
| To live by battle which they loved. | |
| There the Italian’s clouded face, | |
| The swarthy Spaniard’s there you trace; | |
| The mountain-loving Switzer there | |
| More freely breathed in mountain air; | 150 |
| The Fleming there despised the soil, | |
| That paid so ill the laborer’s toil; | |
| Their rolls showed French and German name: | |
| And merry England’s exiles came, | |
| To share, with ill-concealed disdain | 155 |
| Of Scotland’s pay the scanty gain. | |
| All brave in arms, well trained to wield | |
| The heavy halberd, brand, and shield; | |
| In camps licentious, wild, and bold; | |
| In pillage fierce and uncontrolled; | 160 |
| And now, by holytide and feast, | |
| From rules of discipline released. | |
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